


Perchance to Dream

by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Elder God, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/pseuds/Leahelisabeth
Summary: John Winchester drops his boys off at a sleepy motel.  Things are not quite what they seem.  One thing's for sure, they probably shouldn't fall asleep.





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is my work for the Supernatural Reverse Bang, 2017. My brilliant artist was illiminal. They gave me an incredible first image to work with and really ran with my story and was an all around great person to work with. You can check out the art post [here](https://illiminal.livejournal.com/2600.html). Please go give them some love!

Night is stealing in on silent feet. The sun flees, just a sliver above the horizon now. There are none of the glorious colours one would generally associate with a prairie sunset, just a stain of orange around the rim of the bowl and a blue deepening toward the center. A motel stands, the only thing disrupting the eternal flatness. Nothing stirs, not a blade of grass, nor a tumbleweed. But it’s early yet. A sign flickers and buzzes. “No vacancy,” it reads. There’s a small click and the hum of the neon grows slightly less. “Vacancy.” It waits.

A rumble splits the silence of the night. The earth shudders a little at the disturbance of her peace. A great black car roars into the parking lot and kicks up a cloud of dust from the pavement. A man steps out. He opens the back seat, pulls out a sleepy little boy, and sets him on unsteady feet.

“Dean, help your brother,” the man says. And an older boy crawls out too and nestles the smaller child under his arm.

“Just a few minutes, Sammy,” the boy, Dean, whispers. The man is in and then walking out in moments, the jangling of silver keys in his hand and then flying through the air. Dean snatches them out of their arc.

“I don’t want to stay here,” Sammy whispers from his place under Dean’s arm. “Can’t we just keep driving, Daddy?”

“Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re getting too old to call me Daddy,” the man scowls. “And if we keep driving, you won’t have anywhere to sleep. I have a client I can stay with but he doesn’t like kids so I don’t want you near him. This motel is fine.”

Sammy sniffles and reaches out for his father but the man ignores his outstretched arms and pulls the duffel bag out of the trunk. He uses the key to open the door to 6B and sets the bag inside. “Dean, you’re in charge. Look after your brother.” And then he gets back in the car and drives off. The car fades into the distance and profound silence rolls in like a wave.

* * *

Dean guides Sammy to one of the beds and flops onto the other one. He turns the tv on, volume low, and wraps himself in the blanket like a burrito.

“Dean?” Sammy says from his place on top of the blankets.

“Go to sleep, Sammy. Dad says I can’t tuck you in anymore,” Dean’s burrito speaks.

“Ugh, Dean,” Sammy scoffs. “I don’t need you to tuck me in anymore. I’m almost seven.”

“Sure, squirt, whatever you say,” Dean laughs.

Sammy stands and jumps the distance between the beds and slams into Dean’s blanket mound. “Don’t call me squirt!”

“Oof,” Dean gasps. “Sammy, stop it. It’s bedtime. And you’re not almost seven. You just turned six three months ago.”

“I slept in the car and now I can’t sleep. I’m bored. All you do is watch tv. You don’t play with me anymore,” Sammy pouts.

“I’m the grownup when Dad is gone. I don’t play. Go to bed, Sammy, I mean it,” Dean shoves his brother a little harder than he means to and dumps him into the space between the beds.

“You’re such a jerk, Dean,” Sammy shouts. “I wouldn’t want to play with you anyway!” And he hops back onto his own bed and turns his back. Dean’s face twists as he hears a sniffle from the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Dean sighs.

“I’m thirsty,” Sammy mumbles into his pillow. “Can we go get a drink?”

“We shouldn’t leave the hotel room,” Dean begins but Sammy turns to look at him with his eyes huge, pleading, and just a little teary. “Fine, but stick tight. Dad will beat your ass if you get us in trouble.”

“Just to the pop machine and back,” Sammy says and sticks out his pinky finger. “Then I’ll go to bed.”

Dean rolls his eyes but links his pinky finger with Sammy’s without letting out the snarky comment brewing in his chest.

Sammy hops out of bed and jams his feet into his shoes without bothering with the laces. Dean is a little more methodical, tying his boots tightly and neatly. Sammy is dancing at the door by the time he’s ready to go. He looks out the door and it’s still as quiet and still as it had been when they drove up.

“Ok, remember, stick tight,” Dean says as they leave the hotel room.

“I’m not a baby. I can remember something you told me two minutes ago,” Sam scowls.

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, maybe we shouldn’t go outside,” Dean stops them in the doorway.

“I pinky promised, remember?” Sammy looks up, his brow furrowed.

Dean sighs and leads the way. The pop machine is only a few doors down and Dean squints at it as they draw near. It doesn’t look any different than in the daylight but it’s almost like a dark cloud hangs over it. Not one that he can actually see though.

“What a weird looking pop machine!” Sammy says, sealing himself a little closer to Dean’s side.

Dean agrees. He’s used to pop machines with a vertical row of buttons down the right side. Instead there are six buttons in two horizontal lines across the middle. And the sides of the pop machine are scarred and discoloured and the ancient refrigeration system groans and complains. It has the usual suspects, coke, diet coke, sprite, root beer, and mello yello. And then, in the lower right corner of the button grid, there is a mystery button, printed on faded paper with an inconsistent font and colour. Dean gets a coke for himself.

“What kind do you want, Sammy?” he asks, startling his little brother as he gazes at the motel sign.

“I dunno,” Sam says. “Did the motel sign always look like that?”

Dean glances at it and it doesn’t look quite right. But it doesn’t look wrong either. “I guess,” he says. “And you’re getting a mystery pop then.” He puts in another 55 cents and it spits out something shockingly green and cold. “It’s a mountain dew...I think,” Dean says. He looks down at it to look at the label and his eyes seem to slide right past. But the logo is probably there. He’s just tired.

“Ne...ne...s-somn-n-nim,,,somnum. Do you know what that means, Dean?” Sammy asks, wrinkling Dean’s t-shirt in his tight grip.

“Uhhh...no sleep? I think?” Dean guesses.

“Uncle Bobby said that ‘ne’ is second person imperative in the sub...subjective...no...sub-junc-tive.” Sammy takes care to pronounce every syllable clearly. “Do you think that’s in the sub-junc-tive.”

“What would it say then?” Dean asks. “You always liked Uncle Bobby’s Latin lessons way more than me.”

“I think it would say ‘don’t sleep,’” Sammy shivers.

“Pretty sure you’re wrong, kiddo. Where do you see this?” Dean asks.

“On the SIGN,” Sammy says, annoyed.

Dean looks up at the sign again and he doesn’t understand. “That sign just says no vacancy.”

“What? No!” Sammy almost shouts before looking back up at the sign. “Oh...I guess it does. Let’s go back to the room. I don’t like the faces.”

“I don’t see any faces either,” Dean said, looking around at the deserted motel.

But Sammy doesn’t let go of Dean’s shirt until they’re back in the room. He pulls his drink out of Dean’s hand, pops it open, and starts to gulp it down.

“Hey, slow your roll, kiddo. There’s a lot of caffeine in mountain dew and I don’t want you to be up all night.” Dean tries to grab the can but Sammy ducks away.

“You saw the sign, Dean,” he says breathlessly between gulps. “I can’t go to sleep!”

“The sign that said no vacancy?” Dean finally manages to grab the can away but there is only about an inch in the bottom of the can. He shrugs and drains the rest of it. “Pretty sure the only vacancy is right here.” He pulls Sam into a headlock and slams him onto the bed, rubbing his head in a vicious noogie.

“Stop, Dean, STOP!” Sam shouts. Eventually, Dean relents and they lie on the bed, Sam’s hair sticking straight up and his head pillowed on Dean’s arm. He yawns right in Dean’s face and then drops off quicker than Dean’s ever seen him.

Dean’s arm is trapped under Sam’s head and he looks around for something to put under his little brother’s head. His eye catches the can and suddenly it doesn’t look like mountain dew at all. There are no words, just an eye in some sort of triangle. Dean contemplates getting up for a closer look but as he watches, the can dissolves into a small pile of dust that sits on the table in the stillness. The curtains aren’t pulled all the way together and he can see through the crack as the first part of the sign blinks out once more. Odd. It does look like ‘somnum’ instead of ‘vacancy’ at this angle. He thinks he should be concerned but he’s so tired. He shifts Sam a little closer and grabs the blanket to throw over them both. He’ll look in the morning.

* * *

It isn’t morning. It isn’t even dawn. The darkness is deep and inviting and Dean wishes to answer the call of sleep. But he’s moving. And Sam is no longer in his arms. He tries to reach, but his limbs don’t obey him. His legs continue their slow shuffle forward. He tries to call for Sam but the darkness rushes into his open mouth and chokes him.

Light flickers ahead, not the brash light of fluorescence or the cheerful light of day. As he draws closer, he discovers that the passageway he follows is now lit by torches. The tunnel is close enough that he should be able to feel their warmth but bitter cold has struck deep into his bones and their feeble fire cannot touch it.

His eyes clear and he can see Sam before him, their steps uneven but still taken together in some parody of rhythm. A heaviness blankets him and it takes far too long for him to recognize it as dread. Time skips and they’re standing at the entrance to a cavern. Dean wonders how many miles of rock and earth are above them and if anyone would ever find them if it collapsed right now.

“What took you so long?” A voice echoes from above them.

“Forgive us, mistress. The child was too perceptive. He saw through much of our glamour and he was fighting sleep. We had to use the machine to lure them,” a shadow pushes between the two of them and turns into a man in a cloak.

“Then we must waste no more time. He may still prove strong enough to fight the draining. Why did you bring the brother? He is too old.” The voice rasps and echoes off the walls.

“We called only the younger but the older followed. Their connection is stronger than we expected. And we may want this to be the last for a while. Their father stunk of sulphur,” the man grovels.

“Demon child?” the voice in the cavern sounds excited and fear shoots like an arrow through Dean’s chest.

“No, still human, although he has been...enhanced,” the man reaches out and caresses Sammy’s face. “I believe the father may be a hunter. Once you eat him, there will be a target on your back.”

“He will be no match for me once I have consumed this child. Yes, I can feel it. He is strong, in mind and body, truly a worthy gift,” the voice chuckles. “Let us get started.”

The man turns and pushes Dean hard. Dean falls, his head striking the wall on the way down and suddenly all the torches are fuzzy and flickering. He struggles to focus on Sammy but he has lost the compulsion keeping him on his feet and his head is spinning and nothing makes sense anymore.

Sam is moving again, farther toward the center. And for the first time, Dean can see her. He cannot tell the size or shape. His eyes slip off if he tries to focus, just like the can of pop and the hotel sign. But he can’t focus very well so he aims his eyes in the direction of the most impenetrable darkness and lets his eyes blur. And then he can see the cruel fangs and horns, the muscles bulging, the huge eyes, like black pits in a weathered face.

“Samuel Winchester,” she whispers and Dean feels the pull to follow his brother to the center, to offer himself as well.

“I am here,” Sammy says.

“Very good child. What is your intent?” she reaches out a giant claw and carefully strokes Sammy’s cheek.

Sammy does not pull away, even as the claw draw a single drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. “This is my purpose,” he recites. “To offer my heart and soul to your service, and my flesh to your empowerment. Of myself, I give all, so you may become all.” He kneels, eyes closed, and proudly bares his chest for her claws.

Dean is moving before he even realizes he has the strength but he is too slow to stop her claws, only to begin to pull Sammy away. He nearly freezes as he sees blood begin to well up from scratches across Sammy’s shoulder. But he cannot stop to fix his brother yet. A great shriek arises, shaking the very stones of the cavern.

Everything is shifting, inside his head and out. Rocks rain down from the cavern’s walls as the thing shifts her massive bulk, tentacles reaching for him, no, shoving him aside, reaching for his brother.

Dean goes mad. Nothing makes sense here. All he can see is his broken, bleeding little brother and darkness reaching for him. And Dean could never let his Sammy be consumed by darkness. He leaps at the creature, though he is but a mouse in comparison. He claws at the tentacles but his bitten nails do nothing to the smooth, frictionless texture. One of them wraps around him, picks him up and shakes him like a doll. And he can see the others, sliding gently under Sammy, barely conscious, and not fighting at all.

Dean leans forward and bites down. The tentacle resists like rubber but Dean persists until he is rewarded with another great shriek and a mouthful of ooze. But she doesn’t drop him. She shakes him, harder, until he can barely tell which way is up, and then she cradles his little brother closer, stroking hair back from his forehead with an oddly gentle claw. She licks the blood from his shoulder and hums in satisfaction.

“Yes, this is the child I’ve waited for,” she laughs and the dark fractures around her. “I can taste it in his blood, the blood of a prince, the blood of hell. The time approaches and the time is here. The great goddess Ria’e will rise and all the earth will be plunged into darkness as the reek of my reign encompasses all.” She lifts Sammy over her head and opens her great mouth, lined with jagged teeth.

In the moment of her triumph, she loosens her hold on Dean. He drops to the ground and his hand lands on a rock so sharp it cuts him. He clutches it in his hand, even as the blood runs down his arm, and leaps at her head, slashing at her eyes. She shrieks as one side of her face becomes a bloody ruin. He manages to gasp out a few words, older than Latin, a protection against evil that Bobby had taught him the last time they visited. It hurts her and she flinches back. He lunges at her face again but she is too quick. Instead of holding him, she flings him against the wall of the tavern. Dean can’t breathe. He can’t see. And all he can hear is her horrible laughter. The last thing he remembers is the rumble of falling rock and the brightness of daylight filling the musty cavern before it all slips away.

* * *

Dean moans as he opens his eyes. The first thing he searches for was the warm and breathing weight of Sammy in the bed beside him. Once he establishes that his little brother is in fact exactly where he is supposed to be, he can focus on the two worried faces looking down at him.

“Dad?” he asks hoarsely. “Bobby?”

“We’re really glad you’re awake, kiddo,” Bobby says gruffly.

“Sammy?” he asks.

“Sammy is fine,” John says. “He was already awake and asking about you. But he’s exhausted so he went back to sleep.”

“No thanks to yer daddy here,” Bobby scowls. “I never would have agreed to this hunt had I known you two were gonna be the bait.”

Dean glares up at John as hard as he can manage with the bright flare of pain behind his eyes. “Me and Sammy were bait?”

John has the grace to look uncomfortable. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far. Bobby and I would have followed you immediately. We didn’t know they would put the whole area under a sleeping spell.”

“It shouldn’ta happened at all, idgit,” Bobby scowls at John.

“The monster is dead and my boys are safe. I’m not seeing a downside here,” John insists mulishly.

“We will be talking about this later,” Bobby promises. “You did good, kid. The protection spell broke the sleep spell on us and she was easy to take down with the two of us considering she couldn’t see outta one side.”

“I had to keep Sammy safe,” Dean yawns.

John looks as if he might say more but Bobby stops him. “Sleep now, son. You’ve earned it.”

Dean drifts back off. When Sammy wakes up again, he is back to his normal self, chattering to Dean about anything and everything, thanking him profusely for saving him from the wild dog attack in their hotel. And Dean watches and wonders if there is more to his brother than he had seen before. One thing is for sure, he never told his dad or Bobby about the things the goddess had said. Some things were better left sleeping.


End file.
